


You Can't Find What You Need in the Bottle of a Whiskey Bottle, Boy

by kingelton



Category: The Beatles
Genre: BDSM, D/s, Dom!John, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Play, M/M, Sub!Paul
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-08
Updated: 2013-08-14
Packaged: 2017-12-14 08:00:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/834552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingelton/pseuds/kingelton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the breakup of the band Paul sinks into an extreme depression. He refuses to wash, cut his hair or shave. Most days he won't even get out of bed and everyday it's a race to see how fast and how many whiskey bottles he can empty. It's getting worse and worse, so Linda calls someone she thinks can help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wash

**Author's Note:**

> This first chapter is only really hints at the D/s relationship they share. In the next chapter it gets heavier. Also...my John is so much fucking nicer than the real John. This isn't been proof-read so there are most likely some grammar errors and spelling mistakes. I hope you enjoy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The struggle to get Paul clean.

It wasn’t early in the morning to say the least. In fact it was closing in on midafternoon but Paul still hadn’t moved. He’d been awake for nearly four hours already but he hadn’t so much as changed positions. His thick, untrimmed beard and long greasy locks hiding the expression on his face as he looked out the window from his position on his stomach. Every hour or so Linda would come in and attempt to get him up and bathed but he wouldn’t move. She had only come in once since he woke up and for a moment he wondered why. Empty whiskey bottles stood on the bedside table, casting little shadows here and there. All the lights were turned off but the window currents were pulled back much to his annoyance. 

The door banged open but Paul didn’t even look up. He figured it was Linda trying to get a reaction out of him. She’d taken to accepting it more and more though. If he paid attention he’d know that Linda was taking the kids into town today but he’d completely ignored her when she said that to him this morning. Sighing he shut his eyes hoping she’d think he’d fallen back asleep. 

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Macca.” That was definitely not the voice of his wife. “Here I though Linda might have been exaggeratin’, but she was bloody right. Ye are pathetic.”

The voice is what made him turn over, not the words. Words stopped bothering him about two weeks into his depression. He rolled with an aching groan so that he was on his back. His hair was slowly brushed out of his eyes as he tried to get a good look at John. All the whiskey still in his system made it hard for his eyes to focus. All of his movements were slow and lethargic, as if someone had slowed down a tape. Even the smallest of his movements seemed to take ten times more energy than it should have. Everything was clearly written on him. The pain, anger, depression, tiredness…all of his normally carefully guarded emotions just stood still on his face. 

“Yer fuckin’ disgustin’, mate.” John was walking into the room, his face scrunched up into displeasure. “Ye smell, Macca. Bad. Really bad. Guess she wasn’t lyin’ ‘bout ye refusin’ ta wash either.” Even with the foul smell he went over to the edge of the bed that Paul stayed on. “Never did I evah think I’d see the Great Paul Fucking McCartney evah sink this low.” Shaking his head, John lean back against the wall as he counted the bottles on the side table and with each bottle his face darkened. 

“Fuckin’ 17 bottles.” John took out his cigarette package. “Got yerself a whole fuckin’ liquor store then.” 

“There are twenty more under the bed…or somewhere.” Paul rolled his eyes and drops back onto his pillow. “Ye can leave now, John.” Paul pulled the blankets around him even more and turned over with the same great effort that as before. 

“Like hell.” He put the package back in his jacket without taking one out. “Yer gettin’ outta bed, McCartney.” His tone was commanding but not hard. 

“Jus’…fuckin’ piss off, John.” He mumbled into thee pillows. “I know ye don’ really fuckin’ care. Sorry Linda called ye…” His eyes started to close again so he could go back to sleep. 

“Maybe I didn’ make me-self clear, Paul.” John cleared his throat, grabbed the blankets that were keeping the freezing Scotland air off Paul’s naked body. “Yer gettin’ outta this fuckin’ bed right now, Paul.” 

The cold air seemed to sober Paul up a little but it was that voice. The tone John was taking with him. He rolled over again and glared daggers at his once-was friend. John, to his credit didn’t look like he was about to back down and threw the blankets far away so that Paul didn’t have a chance to get them. 

“Yer gonna do this now?” Paul looked up at him with so much hate and anger, and betrayal. “Yer gonna fuckin’ do this now? After everything that’s happened, John…ye think ye can just walk back into my bleedin’ life!” Paul ended his soft spoken speech in a yell. “Ye can’t!”

John looked at him for a moment before shaking his head and stepping dangerously close to the bed. He looked dangerous too, as if he were about to take control of the situation no matter what means he had to use to get Paul out of bed and into the bathroom. 

“I’m gonna tell ye what’s ‘bout ta happen, Paul.” His voice drops low and it would be soothing if it weren’t for the razor sharp edge he had with it. “Yer gonna get out of this bed, go into the bathroom where ye will shower or bath, whichever. The point is ye’re gonna get clean. Then yer gonna brush yer fuckin’ filthy mouth, and after tha’ I’m gonna cut yer hair and shave yer face.” 

“I’m not doin’ any of that, John. Now give me the damn blankets back.” Paul met his eyes and quickly regretted it because he was forced to see that look in his eyes. 

“Yer doing it.” John said calmly.

The next thing Paul knew he was being physically dragged off his mattress. John had grabbed him around his middle and tore him off of the bed. Paul hit the floor loudly and looked completely dazed for a moment. Then he looked at John and glared heatedly. 

“Are ye gonna do as yer told, boy?” John cocked an eyebrow and looked completely unimpressed. Paul didn’t respond. “’Ave it yer way.”

This time he didn’t go for Paul’s middle but instead for his disgusting long and unwashed hair. That got Paul onto his feet as he screamed and cursed at John. Words like ‘cunt’, ‘fucker’, ‘cocksucker’ and ‘fucking bastard’ were the highlights. Luckily for their struggle the bathroom wasn’t too far away but it was small and caused problems when John had to physically shove him inside. John didn’t want to hurt him but he knew if Paul didn’t stop the struggle then that might happen. He let go of the younger man’s hair but put his arms around his chest and arms to keep him still. He slammed Paul face first into the wall outside of the bathroom. 

“Yer makin’ this a lot harder than it has to be, Paulie.” John still managed to keep his voice calm and easy.

“Fuckin’ cunt! Get the fuck offa me, ye lousy fuckin’ cocksucker!” Paul kept pushing back and bucking and doing everything he could but John was bigger than him. Stronger than him too. After all John hadn’t spent the last couple of months lying in bed and drinking.

They stayed like this for nearly ten minutes. Paul’s fight slowly degraded to just full body shaking and his words losing their bite many minutes ago. John didn’t let go just yet and it took him a moment to realize exactly what was happening. The shaking wasn’t the aftershock of the fight…Paul was crying. 

“Please…just let me go, Johnny.” His head dropped forward to rest against the tile and the shaking turned into loud sobs. “Please…I don’ wanna do this anymore…I don’ wanna be here.” Those words echoed like helpless shouts on the walls. “Just end it, please.” 

John knew what Paul meant. How could he not? It was depression with a side of suicidal thoughts. Paul wasn’t saying he didn’t want to do what they were doing, or that he didn’t want to be in the situation. Paul was saying he didn’t want to be alive anymore. Carefully John lifted his hand to move Paul’s hair off his neck so that John could rest his chin there. Then his arms went back around him like a cage.

“Come on, Paul.” He whispered softly. “I know just what ye need.” He kept his face blank. “Ye trust me, don’ ye?” John could only hope that answer would be ‘yes’. If it’s not then he’d have to stop. The response took Paul a few minutes to come up with.

“…Yes.” His throat hurt and he was horse. “I trust ye…s-sir.” 

It was the last word that made it all happen. John breathed in a sigh of relief and nodded against Paul’s over-heated skin. This was just the first stage of breaking his Paulie down.

“Then yer gonna have to stop fightin’ me.” John kept his tone even. “And yer gonna have to do as I tell ye to.” All John got was a nod out of Paul. He frowned, typically he wouldn’t accept a non-verbal response but he did this time just because this wasn’t typical. “We’re gonna move into the bathroom then, ye hear? An’ we’re gonna do wha’ I told ye to do earlier. Understood?” Again all he got was a nod but he let it happen anyways.

Carefully, still holding Paul against his chest, he moved the younger man into the bathroom and over to the bath. He made Paul get in, was even rough with him and then started the shower. He made sure to make the shower cold. He left the curtain open so that he could watch Paul. The younger man washed his hair and beard more than once and then scrubbed down his body with soap. The whole thing took nearly an hour and John was starting to worry since the Scottish cabin was freezing and the water was cold. But then Paul stepped back from under the stray and John turned it off. He wrapped up his charge in a fluffy towel.

“Yer gonna stay ‘ere.” John said firmly as the towel went around Paul. “An’ I’m gonna get ye some warm clothes. If ye move yer gonna be in big trouble. I want a verbal response this time, Paul.”

“Yes, s-sir.” He still stumbled over the word. “I’m going to stay right here until you return with clothes, and if I move I’ll be in big trouble.” Paul kept his eyes down and closed.

“Good.” John reached out and tipped his face up to look at him. “Next time I expect ye to look at me.” 

Before Paul could respond John was getting clothes out of the bedroom. He searched until he found Paul a pair of pants, warm trousers and two jumpers as well as a t-shirt. Lastly warm socks. He brought it all back to the bathroom and placed it all on the counter of the sink. 

“Get dressed.” He ordered as he stepped back to lean against the door jam.

Paul hesitated for some odd reason. Normally he would jump at the chance to actually be clothed since he’d been naked since John stole his covers. John would have to question the hesitation later. Paul quietly pulled on his pants and socks first. Then the t-shirt, followed by the warm pants and lastly one of the jumpers; then he looked over at John for his next instructions. 

“Put the other jumper on, Paul.” John said coldly and stepped back into the bedroom. “I didn’t bring in two for you to pick which one ye liked best. Put the fuckin’ jumper on and come out here.”

Paul pulled on the second jumper and then followed John into his bedroom. John looked around for a moment and then at Paul. He frowned deeply. 

“Firstly yer gonna brush yer teeth. Then yer gonna go over there and take off all the bedding. It can’t be clean with how fuckin’ filthy you’ve been. Then yer gonna get out a new bedset and put it on. Make it look neat for when yer wife gets home. After that I want every single fuckin’ whiskey bottle removed from this room and put in the bloody trash.” John looked around in search of anything else Paul should do. “Then put yer shoes on, get a chair from yer kitchen table and meet me outside.” John turned to leave but then turned back just as quick. “I want this completed within thirty minutes, Paul.”

Then he was gone. He went out the front door and checked his watch so that he’d know what Paul should be done. As he waited he pulled out his pack of smokes and leaned against the side of the house just next to the front door.


	2. Cut & Shave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally John manages to clean away the traces of Paul's depression.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter becomes heavier with D/s themes.

Less than thirty minutes after John put his orders in motion Paul sheepishly stepped out of the house, chair in tow. He couldn’t look at John as he walked out. Slowly he made it a good three or four yards outside before he sat the chair down and stood facing outward. John dropped his cigarette and stomped it out before stepping up to Paul.  
“Take a seat, Macca.” John told him, putting his hand over the younger man’s left shoulder and slowly guiding him down. “I left my bag inside. Don’t move.” 

“Yes, sir.” Paul still hung his head but at least he didn’t trip over the word this time.

John made his way quickly back inside the house to get his bag he’d brought along with him. Again he was right behind Paul who had stayed seated outside but this time he could take the next step. He dropped the bag on the ground and kneeled to pull out a pair of scissors, a razor, and shaving cream. There was more inside the bag but John thought he’d need only this now. As he pulled out the scissors the rope he had coiled up inside came out with it, he didn’t give it a second thought as he pushed it back into the bag but Paul’s eyes were locked on it. John noticed.

“Thought ye might be a bit more difficult at this stage.” He pointed out as he ran a hand through the younger man’s hair. “Thought I’d have to tie you to the bloody chair to keep you still.”

Even as he explained it Paul didn’t look away from it. A look of longing plagued his eyes as John leaned over to see his face. Of course they’d used rope before, and Paul had always enjoyed it. That had been something that Paul had always taken comfort in during their whole ‘alternative’ relationship. After a moment of thought John came around and crouched in front of Paul. The younger man finally looked away from the rope but refused to look at John in the eye.

“Eyes up, Macca.” John tapped his chin. “Ye want it?” He arched an eyebrow. “I want ye to answer me, Paul. If ye don’t speak I’m just going to carry on.” 

“I want it.” Paul said hoarsely as he looked at John. “B-But…what if Linda and the kids come home?”

At the mention of his family Paul’s eyes fell again. Of course Linda knew about what he and John were to each other even though it had mostly died off a few years before the break up. But Linda knowing and Linda (and the kids) seeing were two different things. It was an obvious thing to be apprehensive about and John knew full well how apprehensive Paul could get. Especially about this sort of stuff.

“They’re in town until tomorrow at noon.” John pointed out. “When Linda called me I told her that it might not be a quick fix...told her to take the kids into town until tomorrow and that I’d call her at noon to tell her if you were fit to be a husband and father.” John cupped his cheek. “They’re not gonna show up any time soon, boy.”

John waited for Paul to process all of the information he’d just given him. It was amusing to watch the wheels turn in Paul’s head as he tried to figure out if he wanted to do the rope or not. After two minutes John was about to make the choice for him but Paul opened his mouth.

“I-I’d like ye to use the rope.” Paul said so quietly that John thought he had just dreamed it. 

“I’m sorry, Paul.” John frowned hard at him. “I didn’t know that the rules had changed. Since when did it become acceptable for you not to address me with the proper title?” Paul’s eyes went wide as he realized what he’d done. “That’s right. Now, let’s hear your request properly.”

“I’d like for ye to use the rope, sir.” Paul said clearly this time and shifted in the chair.

John watched him for a moment before he grinned and stood up. Quickly he took out the ropes he’d brought and pulled Paul back against the chair. There was a lot of rope, too much for just his hands, so John grinned as he figured out how he wanted to tie Paul up. After a few moments of thought he started winding the rope around Paul’s chest to make an ‘X’ against the plush jumpers. Then he pulled the rope ends back to tie behind the chair and from the knot there he tied both of Paul’s hands. It was quick and a little sloppy but it would do to calm Paul down and keep him calm. 

“Alright.” John stepped back and picked up the scissors. “Time to cut this lion’s mane and that bloody awful beard.”

Paul didn’t comment. He just sat there tied to the chair as John started trimming his hair. It wasn’t the first time John had cut his hair. Many years ago they’d done it for a photo shoot and before that the older boy had talked him into it a couple of times. It was soothing, Paul thought as he let his head drop forward a little. The cutting of his hair took longer than Paul imagined, it must have been worse than he thought, but soon it was groomed back to a good length and all that was left of his long depression was his beard. John came back around to be in front of him and leaned down to start cutting but then stopped.

“Do ye want to keep any of your beard, Paul?” He questioned the younger man.

Paul had been drifting off when that question was asked. He was so close to the edge of what they had. The head space he always got into when they did something like this, the space that John helped push him into and kept him there. John always made the choices when he got like that or whenever they were in this sort of scene. When John asked the question Paul could feel a seed of panic blossom at having to make a choice. John must have seen it.

“Hey, Paul.” John reached out again and touched his face. “Look at me.” But Paul couldn’t bring his eyes up. “I said look at me boy.” That tone could not be disobeyed and Paul finally looked up at him. “We’re cuttin’ it all off. If ye find ye want a beard later then ye can grow one, but I’m bringing ye back to that clean shaven face that I love. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.” Paul breathed a heavy sigh of relief and nodded. 

John didn’t say anything more as he started to cut away at the beard. It was too thick and long for him to just shave off. The cutting down of the beard took fifteen minutes and then finally John thought he could manage to shave the rest off. Before he put the cream on he realized he didn’t have a bowl of water. Silently he cursed himself and shook his head. 

“I’m going inside to get a bowl of water.” He informed the bound man. “Don’t be going anywhere, Paulie.” He gave the younger man a teasing wink as he took off inside the house again. It wasn’t five minutes later that he came back out with the bowl of water. “I see ye didn’t move.” 

Paul just looked at him and waited. John quickly lathered Paul’s face in the shaving cream and placed the bowl in his lap. Just like with the hair cutting this wasn’t John’s first time shaving his Paul. His nimble hands worked well as they took off the last layer of Paul’s depression. Every two or three strokes he’d have to clean the razor but by the end of it Paul didn’t have a single nick on his face. John took a towel from the bag and cleaned off Paul’s newly smoothed face, then ran the back of his hand across his face and grinned at the smooth feeling. Paul was back, his baby face just as cute as ever. 

“There is my old Paulie.” John teased as his hand moved from Paul’s cheeks to his hair. “All clean and shaven.” He leaned in to look at Paul’s eyes. “But not completely sober just yet, I see.” John pulled away and started putting all the things away again. He dumped out the bowl and put away everything but the rope. “Ye were pretty good too. I think ye might be gettin’ a reward for how good ye’ve been.” He went around behind him and started undoing his hands and chest. “But before tha’, we gotta get ye feed and a little more sobered up.” 

Paul frowned as he was released. He slumped forward in his chair and his stomach just clenched at the thought of food. He’d hardly been eating so his stomach ached. John quickly put a hand on his shoulder so he knew he was still there, and then he pulled him off the chair and to his feet.

“Get my bag and the chair and get inside.” John ordered. “It’s much to bloody cold out here any ways.” The only reason they had been outside was because John knew how big a mess it would have been to cut Paul’s hair and beard inside. 

The order sent Paul moving. He picked up the bag and then the chair and followed closely behind John as they went back inside the Scottish home. Paul put the chair back where it belonged and then bag on the table. John was banging around in the kitchen, trying to make food Paul realized. Then a loud yell had him bounding for the kitchen. 

“Get in here, Paul!” It wasn’t an angry yell, just a firm command and Paul quickly filed into the kitchen. John glanced up at him as he started putting the tea on. “I want ye kneeled right there. In full view. Hands behind your back and you may look at me or the ground.” Paul did as he was told and kneeled, his eyes following John around. 

For a few minutes Paul was amazed that John knew where everything was, but then quickly realized that Linda must have shown him around the kitchen. For some reason that bothered him a little. Just knowing that Linda had called John and then shown John around without even telling him…Paul dropped his eyes. Actually for all he knew Linda could have blatantly told him that she’d called John and he just hadn’t listened. That’s when he realized he wasn’t mad at Linda for calling John or showing him around the house but mad at himself that he made her go to such extreme measures. And why? Because their stupid little band had broken up, and because he was sure John hated him now. Damn it. Paul could feel himself shaking again with the force of all his emotions. 

Keeping them all bottled up couldn’t be healthy but neither could be lying in bed drinking but for Paul it was always one extreme or another. If he wasn’t shuttering with emotion then he was completely cut off. Always hot and cold, never in the middle. He bit the inside of his mouth until he could taste blood. That’s when he felt John’s hand on his shoulder. 

“Stop.” The order was firm and hard but not harsh. “Ye’ve got to stop thinking, boy. Ye know that.” John had found that over the years referring to him as anything but his name helped him. “Whatever ye’ve got running through that silly, little head of yers has to stop now.” John leaned down to place a cup of tea on the floor in front of Paul. “Drink it.”  
With that final command he was back at the stove making food. There was a three or four second delay before Paul reached out and started to sip on the cup. John was right, he had to stop thinking. Whatever plagued his mind could be dealt with later. Taking in a heavy sigh Paul finally gave in. He sipped on his tea and just watched John cook.


	3. Eat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John gives Paul an incentive to eat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is short and seems a little pointless but...its there for a reason. D/s isn't just about the sexual stuff...it's about this sort of thing too.

The smell of food made Paul’s stomach clench and growl, unsure rather it wanted to eat or not. During the last few months Paul had eaten only the minimum of food and his stomach had simply gotten used to not having anything in it. Even the rare days where he could bring himself to want to eat his stomach would deny any attempts. With the tea from his cup gone and food being the obvious next step, Paul felt uncomfortable. What would happen if he couldn’t eat? What would John do? Would he leave? All the typical anxiety ridden thoughts ran through his mind. He hung his head and tried his best to not think about them. 

It couldn't have been more than ten minutes when John finished at the stove and made the plate. He placed it at the kitchen table and came back over to Paul, taking his cup and filling it with tea again. The place was set for him, knife, and fork and such but John had not ordered him to move yet. Instead John stood by the stove and stared at Paul. Walking slowly over to his charge he tipped his head back so that Paul had to look at him. 

“I know how little you've eaten.” John explains. “And I know that you might not be able to eat too much. However I want to give you a good incentive to eat. You’re weak right now. Like I said I know how little you've eaten, and I also know that you've hardly gotten out of bed or drank anything other than whiskey. So, if I were to do what I plan on doing with you after this while you have an empty stomach you might pass out or get sick because you’re so weak and what I've got planned is very intense.” John smirks and Paul shivers. “I suggest you do your best to eat all of your food, babe.”

With that John stepped back and pointed to the chair. Paul carefully got up onto his shaky legs and made for the chair. That was indeed an incentive that Paul could push himself for. His knees ached slightly from his time on the ground but he ignored the pain. The food in front of him looked good and Paul noticed that John had indeed fixed him a vegetarian breakfast. He smiled a little before he started to eat.

His first three bites were enthusiastic, wanting to conquer the meal but then his stomach started to get upset. He sat the fork down for a moment and put his hand over his upset midsection. John stood behind him with a concerned expression but Paul couldn't see that. He drank more tea in hopes that would calm him down. After a few minutes of this he picked the fork back up and started eating slower. 

John watched him and relaxed when it finally seemed like Paul was going to be able to eat. When his charge got half way through the food on the plate he stopped and put his fork down for good. He couldn't eat anymore and he started to turn around to try to explain that. John had a smirk on his face when he turned around. 

“That’s good enough, I think.” John shrugged. “You’re finished?”

“Yes, sir.” Paul said quietly as he played with the edge of the table cloth. 

“Clean up your mess then and meet me in the living room when you’re done.” John started to leave the kitchen but stopped and turned around. “Drink some more tea though. It’ll do you good.”


	4. Punishment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul is punished for his bad behaviour from the last couple of months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally getting this chapter up! It took me a bit to write because I wasn't sure what order I wanted to go in. This seemed like a good place to start so here it is. Finally getting into the sexual side of it. ;)

In the living room John waited for Paul to clean up the kitchen. On the couch next to him he had another bag that was full of the things that he and Paul used to play with before they grew apart. He smirked to himself and pulled out the first thing he’d be using on his Paulie. If Paul thought he was getting out of this without any punishment he was sorely mistaking.

It didn’t take Paul long to clean up and join him in the living room. At first he had this small smile on his face like he’d get a treat from John the second he came into the room. Then his eyes landed heavily on what John was holding and that smile faded quickly. John raised an eyebrow at him and his eyes fell to the ground. 

“You thought that it’d be all fun and games today, boy?” John stood up and pulled Paul into the middle of the living room. Paul nodded slowly. “You’re forgetting that I’m here to set you straight not to reward you for the bad behavior from these past months. Now…” John looked him over. “I want you to remove all your clothes and neatly fold them and set them aside.”

Paul turned a dark shade of red as he started to get undressed; he followed the orders perfectly and stripped down to nothing, folding them and placing them aside too. He looked up at John after he finished. John was thinking about how he wanted to do this. 

“I don’t think you’re worthy enough to go over my lap.” He mused out loud as he thought about it. “Over that desk.” He nodded to the big desk against one of the back walls. Paul blinked at him. “Did I stutter, Paul? Get over to that desk and bend yourself over it. Ass up high, boy or you’ll be getting more.” John lightly tapped his backside with the wooden paddle he had in hand.

Paul quickly went to the desk and removed the chair from it. He leaned over the desk as he was ordered to. His hands pressed against the surface like his face. John walked up behind him and stared as his ass. 

“We’re gonna start with fifty.” He said calmly. “If you try to stop the spanking I’ll add more on. I don’t stop, but you may beg me too. I’ll only stop if…” 

“If I use my safe word…” Paul said into the desk. “Which is ‘Woolton’.” 

John nodded. “Good boy.” He stepped back and stretched before landing the first painful blow on Paul’s backside with the wooden paddle. Paul hissed, his body rocking forward with the blow. His eyes shut as John landed another blow. Paul managed to keep quiet and not move for twenty strikes. Finally he broke and started to beg for John to stop but he didn’t. Around thirty Paul finally reached back with his hands and stopped John. That infuriated John.

“Paul.” He said in a warning tone. “Put yer hands back on the desk or else.” 

“Please…no. I can’t…” He groaned and didn’t move his hands. John put the paddle down and got the handcuffs.

“I warned you.” He locked Paul’s hands behind his back. “I’m adding twenty extra.”

Paul whimpered and squirmed when the spanking went on. John didn’t go soft. His backside started to colour a deep shade of red as well as some blue. Paul begged, asking him to stop and even apologized while John kept it up. Eventually Paul started to cry softly into the desk. John would sometimes comment. He’d say “you know you deserve this punishment” or tell him he could make it a little while longer. Once they past fifty Paul really lost it. He broke down into loud sobs and tears ran freely down his face. John rubbed his back soothingly as Paul cried and begged. 

Even with his emotions running high and the pain in his backside Paul as already hard and had been for many, many strikes. The control John had over him in this situation got him that way, not to mention the fact that he’s more than slightly masochistic. 

His begging turned from ‘please, sir stop’ into just loud pleas. He also knew he’d be in a lot of pain for a few days after this. John finished the extra twenty with more force behind them then the first fifty. By the end Paul was a sobbing mess. John pulled him off the desk and dragged him to the couch. The handcuffs were put away and Paul was wrapped in a tight blanket and laid down. Paul looked up at him questioningly with teary eyes. 

“Don’t worry. That’s not the end of it.” John sat down on the couch and pulled Paul’s head into his lap. “Take a bit of a kip before we keep going, boy.” John played with Paul’s freshly cut hair. “The next part will be a bit more fun.” He winked and leaned down to kiss Paul on the lips. Paul whimpered and looked at him with pleading eyes. “Ye want me to get you off?” He laughed. “Hm…nope.”

Paul’s eyes narrowed a little and before he could even think about reaching down and doing it himself John had turned him over and pulled the blankets apart. He pulled his bag out and fished out a cock ring. “Yer not gonna be getting yerself off either.” John smirked as he slipped it onto Paul’s cock. Paul whined but nodded and John wrapped him up again. “Now go to sleep before I give you another spanking.” He warned. 

Paul sighed and snuggled into the blanket. Slowly, then all at once Paul fell asleep on the couch with his head in John’s lap and his ass painted black, red and blue. Not to mention the little metal ring keeping him from getting any relief from the pressure in his balls. But it was a good sleep and not brought on by the drinking of whiskey. John stayed awake and watched over him.


End file.
